


a shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn

by humanveil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Exes, F/F, Mother-Son Relationship, Severus Snape Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:41:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24570223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanveil/pseuds/humanveil
Summary: In the aftermath of the Battle, Eileen returns to Hogwarts to see her son.Of course, Severus isn’t the Castle’s only occupant.
Relationships: Minerva McGonagall & Severus Snape, Minerva McGonagall/Eileen Prince
Comments: 18
Kudos: 116





	a shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn

There had been a time, once, where Eileen had sworn she’d never step foot in Hogwarts again. It hadn’t just been Hogwarts, of course. It’d been the whole damn thing: a world waiting on war, the tension simmering, boiling, bubbling over. She’d been the only one with enough sense to call it quits, or so she’d thought; she should’ve known the other side was just as bad.

Now, she trudges through Hogsmeade’s streets toward a castle she’d once called home, and pays the people she passes little mind. She isn’t here for them, their mourning, their collective grief. She’s here for one thing, and one thing only.

The rubble is yet to clear, the grounds a makeshift graveyard and the castle a building in the midst of repair. There is a girl in the entryway burning sage, hair glowing gold as smoke wafts around her. She falters when she catches sight of Eileen approaching, stops all together once Eileen is within earshot. The hand holding sage drops back to the girl’s side, and Eileen prepares herself as pale, silvery eyes assess her with an awareness that’s almost unnerving.

Of all the things she’d been expecting, a dream-like voice calling her _Mrs. Snape_ with absolute certainty had not been one of them.

* * *

“He’s been sleeping peacefully,” the Lovegood girl tells her, smiling over her shoulder as she directs Eileen toward the Headmaster’s quarters. No more _Mrs. Snape_ business, not after Eileen’s harsh reminder that that woman did not exist, not anymore. “They’re keeping him in his own space,” Lovegood continues. “I’ve been cleansing it every day.”

Eileen blinks, her voice slipping out in a sigh. “Oh, bloody hell,” she says to herself. Then, louder, “I’m sure he appreciates that.”

She tries for polite but falls short, can’t keep the sarcasm from slipping through. It’s unintentional mostly, though she can’t remember ever meeting a Lovegood she could stand for more than five minutes. _Too many theatrics,_ she remembers Abraxas complaining once, years ago, as they’d walked this very hall. She’d snorted at his hypocrisy. _Too much nonsense, more like._

The girl doesn’t seem to mind, or doesn’t notice, or at the very least, doesn’t mention it. “Oh, he hasn’t woken up, yet,” she says instead, “but I like to think it helps.”

They come to a halt beside a broken Gargoyle, and Eileen watches as Lovegood turns to it with a smile. “Snorkack,” she says, stepping back as the staircase starts to move. It’s a small comfort to Eileen that the girl won’t be accompanying her up. “Good luck,” Lovegood calls out, her arm lifted in a little wave, and Eileen offers a tight smile in response.

The only time she’s ever experienced _luck_ was when she’d brewed it herself.

* * *

The sound of someone speaking filtering out from Severus’ rooms shouldn’t be surprising. In a way, it isn’t. It’s the _voice_ that makes Eileen falter.

“Alaric wrote again this morning,” it’s saying, the particular tilt of a Scottish accent more than familiar. Minerva McGonagall, Eileen realises. In the flesh.

 _Oh, bloody hell,_ indeed.

“You were right, of course. He is a blithering idiot.”

Eileen walks through the office, past the portraits. She stops outside the Headmaster’s sleeping quarters, the door open just a sliver. She stills, careful not to make a sound, and looks through the crack: first to where her son lies, unconscious and deathly pale, with bandages wrapped high around his neck, and then to where Minerva sits at his bedside, a pair of glasses perched low on her nose and a cup of tea hovering at her side.

“Dedalus says I’m the third member he’s asked about election campaigns,” she says, reading off a piece of parchment. “As if anyone is--”

It happens in a split second. One moment Eileen is listening in, perfectly hidden. The next, the door is creaking open, drawing attention. Minerva’s voice breaks off, wand replacing parchment as she turns, arm lifted, prepared for a fight.

The determination drains from her body once she realises who, exactly, is standing in the doorway. A look of shock replaces the initial aggression, and Eileen watches as Minerva’s arm drops back to her side, listens to the soft, shaky exhale the other woman lets slip.

“Eileen,” Minerva says as their eyes meet, and all at once, the memories come rushing back: a harsh reminder of the _other_ reason Eileen had left the Wizarding world behind.

She steps into the room. “Hello, Minerva.”

* * *

“You might have owled.”

It comes from somewhere over her left shoulder. Eileen is standing at Severus’ bedside now, hunched to get a better look at her boy. She hasn’t seen him in years, hasn’t seen him since long before the Dark Lord’s re-emergence, and the man in front of her is different than the one she remembers. He’s older, obviously -- she’d known he would be -- but it’s different, somehow. She can see the weariness etched into his face, the exhaustion evident even in slumber.

“What,” she snorts, turning to spare Minerva a glance. “Didn’t think I’d care that my son survived?”

Silence settles, tense and uncomfortable. Even still, Eileen can _see_ the retort that sits on Minerva’s tongue, the no-doubt harsh words that ache to be let free. It’s amusing, in a way. Eileen is under no illusion that whatever Minerva is keeping to herself is unwarranted; Merlin knows she hadn’t been the best mother, nor a very attentive lover -- at least, not at the end.

A reminder charm goes off somewhere, and Eileen steps aside as Minerva scurries about. There are potions lining Severus’ bedside, ones she knows she ought to recognise, but she’s out of practice. She can do little but watch as Minerva prepares a Muggle syringe, the liquid bright blue and sparkling. 

“Playing Healer?” she asks, unable to stop herself. She doesn’t linger on the bitter jealousy, the muted surprise at how obvious it is that Severus and Minerva have some sort of relationship. A _friendship._ Perhaps something familial. 

“Poppy’s busy, as you can imagine,” Minerva tells her. She administers the potion, Severus’ unconscious body barely moving as she does so. “It doesn’t hurt to do what you can.”

The jab is subtle, but Eileen hears it all the same. The, _And where have you been, all this time?_ that Minerva so obviously wants to ask. It’s all rather tedious, she thinks. If she hadn’t stuck around for Tom’s initial rise to power, why would she have done it this time around?

From the corner of her eye, she sees Minerva’s hand brush over Severus’ forehead, strands of greasy, black hair pushed away from the bandages that cover fresh wounds. A scoff tickles her throat.

“Playing mother?” she asks this time. Her eyebrows are arched, arms crossed. “How unlike you.”

The muscles in Minerva’s face twitch, a tell-tale sign of irritation. It’s funny, Eileen thinks, distantly, how you don’t forget little things like that. “My apologies,” Minerva says, her voice hardened with a defensiveness that Eileen hadn’t expected. “Have you come to reprise the role?”

Eileen feels the unkind smile twist her features, the humourless laugh that itches her throat. “Your compassion is touching,” she says in lieu of an answer, making sure to keep her voice cold, sardonic. “Where was that when he was sixteen?”

Minerva bristles. “If you’ve come to—”

“ _I’ve come_ ,” Eileen says, loud enough to drown out the rest of Minerva’s sentence, “to see my son.” She drags her gaze from Minerva and turns back to her boy. “So if you don’t mind…”

The rest of the sentence is clear. Minerva makes sure to bang the door on her way out.

* * *

“The Healers say it will be months,” Minerva offers later, after Eileen has spent the day discussing Severus’ condition with Poppy Pomfrey and biting her tongue while the Lovegood girl came for her daily cleansing. “Perhaps years. Poppy’s trying to arrange a transfer to St. Mungo’s.”

“I doubt it’ll take that long,” Eileen says. She leans back in her seat, watching Minerva across Severus’ sleeping form. It still feels strange, she thinks, to be here, in front of them both. She can’t remember the last time it’d happened. “He has a habit of defying expectations.”

Minerva smiles: a small, subtle curve of her mouth. It softens her face, the fondness. “Yes,” she agrees, her eyes meeting Eileen’s before settling back on Severus. “He does.”

Silence settles again, not comfortable, but not as tense as it had been before, either. They both seem to have recovered from the shock of seeing each other again, the animosity calmed to an amicability. Eileen had turned back to Severus not long after Minerva had left, her mouth curling despite herself. _I’d prepared for_ you _to rile me up_ , she’d said, _not_ her.

She’d wanted to say more, to say sorry, to tell him that she was proud, but it’d all got caught in her throat. She’d curled her fingers around his wrist instead and hoped he’d get the message; after all, they’d never cared much for verbal admissions.

Now, a bottle clinks, the sound accompanied by Minerva’s quiet murmur. Eileen looks up to see her summon two glasses, a bottle of Firewhiskey already waiting. One of the glasses is held out in invitation, but Eileen shakes her head.

“Sober,” she explains. “Healer’s orders.”

Minerva nods, smartly deciding not to probe. She fills the glass with water instead and passes it along. “Just as well,” she says. She smiles again, though this time there’s a mischievous edge to it: a shadow of a time long-since passed. “You always were a lightweight.”

Eileen laughs, a huff of a thing, and swallows the flicker of affection the words stir. She watches Minerva pour herself a drink, then inclines her head toward her son. “Are you going to fill me in or not?” she asks. “I fear the Lovegood girl’s account wasn’t entirely accurate.”

* * *

When Severus does wake, weeks later, it’s to the sight of Eileen and Minerva sitting at his bedside, the space between them noticeably lacking. He blinks at the both of them, the first words from his mouth a soft, scratchy, “Oh, bloody hell.”

Eileen smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> based on [this tumblr post](https://sistersblack.tumblr.com/post/618212136168112128) i made a little while ago, and [snapeloveposts](https://snapeloveposts.tumblr.com/)’ snape lives prompt. if you're interested, some background info on my eileen/minerva hcs can be found [_here._](https://sistersblack.tumblr.com/post/190441760192/a-ship-i-have-many-thoughts-on-tell-us-about)
> 
> hope you found this enjoyable!


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